The Facts Concerning the Recent Carnival of Crime in Connecticut

By Mark Twain

'The Facts Concerning the Recent Carnival of Crime in Connecticut' is a well told tale by the legendary author, Mark Twain, known for the novel, "Adventures of Huckleberry Finn." It is the story of a man who narrates his fight with his inner demons. Frustrated by the sense of his guilt and shame when he does something wrong, he resolves that the only way to be free is to "murder his conscience". But now, unrestrained no longer, he goes off on a rampage of murderous crimes…

• Language: English
• Publisher: DigiCat
• Release date: Jul 20, 2022
• ISBN: 8596547104063

Mark Twain

Mark Twain, who was born Samuel L. Clemens in Missouri in 1835, wrote some of the most enduring works of literature in the English language, including The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc was his last completed book—and, by his own estimate, his best. Its acquisition by Harper & Brothers allowed Twain to stave off bankruptcy. He died in 1910. 

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Mark Twain

The Facts Concerning the Recent Carnival of Crime in Connecticut

EAN 8596547104063

DigiCat, 2022

Contact: [e-mail]

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I was feeling blithe, almost jocund. I put a match to my cigar, and just then the morning's mail was handed in. The first superscription I glanced at was in a handwriting that sent a thrill of pleasure through and through me. It was Aunt Mary's; and she was the person I loved and honored most in all the world, outside of my own household. She had been my boyhood's idol; maturity, which is fatal to so many enchantments, had not been able to dislodge her from her pedestal; no, it had only justified her right to be there, and placed her dethronement permanently among the impossibilities. To show how strong her influence over me was, I will observe that long after everybody else's do-stop-smoking had ceased to affect me in the slightest degree, Aunt Mary could still stir my torpid conscience into faint signs of life when she touched upon the matter. But all things have their limit in this world. A happy day came at last, when even Aunt Mary's words could no longer move me. I was not merely glad to see that day arrive; I was more than glad—I was grateful; for when its sun had set, the one alloy that was able to mar my enjoyment of my aunt's society was gone. The remainder of her stay with us that winter was in every way a delight. Of course she pleaded with me just as earnestly as ever, after that blessed day, to quit my pernicious habit, but to no purpose whatever; the moment she opened the subject I at once became calmly, peacefully, contentedly indifferent—absolutely, adamantinely indifferent.